Hey, You
by FredandGeorgefreak
Summary: Wendy finally let the peer pressure get to her, and she photoshopped her school picture. Every boy at school seems to love it; all but one. Set after The Hobbit, during high school. Warning: Mentions of sex.


_**I don't own South Park**_

* * *

"_Hey, you, it's your turn to see the beauty in yourself just like you tell everyone else. Hey, you, am I getting through? If you would only see yourself the way you see everyone else, the way I always see you…" - Hey, You, Miranda Cosgrove_

...

Everything started out as a simple experiment just to try to prove a point to Butters, to show him that girls are more than just the fake faces that they hide behind. But it back fired almost immediately and gave off the opposite effect. Teenage girls weren't defined by their grade point average or their extra curriculars any longer. All that mattered was the size of their chests and the thinness of their waists, even if they were painted on by a phony computer software.

Wendy couldn't help but get angry. Girls shouldn't only be valued for their skin and bodies. They should be worth more. Their minds, their opinions, their talents, everything that made a girl who she was was the most important thing. But no one else seemed to get that. Girls had built in insecurities as if they were programmed that way. If they could get someone to compliment them on their appearances, those insecurities would fade for all of two minutes until they came rising back. It was a never-ending cycle from hell.

Boys loved it; there was no doubt that they would. Stereotypical as it was, the boys at South Park High were as horny as they came, and any girl who had wavy hair that reached down to a seemingly perky ass was good enough for them. Even when it wasn't real. Everyday, they would sit around during lunch hour, ogling over picture after picture of an edited girl, cooing at just how perfect she was. Photoshop had turned into a drug used by girls to hide away from reality to get boys to like them and so that they could feel better about themselves.

Almost every girl had been dragged into the insanity, but not Wendy. What boys thought of her wasn't much of her concern, especially if they only judged her by her looks. But then one night she stood in front of her mirror and took a long, hard look, and for once she felt like every other girl at school: a deformity. Her hair fell flat against her shoulders, limp and stringy without much work put into it. Her chocolate brown eyes that had once seemed so happy and determined for success held a sense of uncertainty, as if what she was looking at wasn't what she originally thought it was. Her pale skin appeared ghostlike in the moonlit room, almost ill looking. Breasts too small for her wide chest sat awkwardly against her stomach, curved over just the slightest bit. She had never managed to have it flat, no matter how hard she tried. She had no curves. Her hips were only a bit bigger than her torso. Thighs too big and calves too little, her legs looked like two pieces of wood that just didn't seem to fit together and in the end, made a table topple over. No one wanted a broken table. And that's all Wendy was, built wrong.

Tears dared to form in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. What were tears worth? They didn't mean much; she couldn't change everything that made her so hideous. But at the same time, she knew she could. The blearing computer screen across the room contradicted everything she stood for and everything she had ever defended. But it was so compelling, drawing her closer and closer by the second.

She would only smooth out a few rough edges, she decided, but when she opened her school picture, every edge looked rough. Softening her curves, enhancing her lips, adjusting her legs, it all got a bit silly, but once she started, she just couldn't stop. When she thought everything looked all right, she realized she had missed something else, and she had to go back and fix it once more. The cycle continued until she was finally satisfied, after she had edited every part of her. What she was looking at was most definitely not Wendy Testaburger. But it was better. The girl she was looking at was beautiful. An angelic face smiled back at her with pure white teeth, and Wendy knew it had to be real. A girl that pretty couldn't be sad.

Her heart sank to her stomach when she drafted out an email, clicking every email address she had saved over the years. She wanted people to see just how wonderful she looked. She wanted Stan to see that his girlfriend was pretty, and he could be proud to hold her at his waist. For a moment, she held her cursor over the send button, contemplating her choice. But then she looked back at the gorgeous girl, and without thinking she hit send. It had been done. She couldn't redo it.

Crawling into bed that night felt as if she was lying in her coffin. The real Wendy couldn't be living anymore. She had killed her with the first stroke of an edit. Tomorrow would be hell on earth, she knew that. Every compliment would only be because of her photo, not because of who she was. But maybe it would feel good, to be appreciated for once.

...

The whistles and stares were directed at Wendy as she walked through the halls, and she couldn't lie, it felt pretty good. People were looking at her picture, drooling over her fake breasts no doubt, but that was beside the point. The point was that people were noticing her.

When she was grabbing books from her locker and she felt two arms wrap around her waist, she had to smile a bit. Lips pressed against hers, and she hadn't realized until just then that Stan had never kissed her so deeply. Maybe he hadn't seen the picture; maybe he was just happy to see her. But then she took note of his new phone background and when she saw that plastered on smile that was meant to be her own looking back at her, she knew that she was wrong. "That picture's really hot, babe," he said, allowing his fingers to stroke her hip. "Every guy is jealous because I'm dating the new hottest girl at school."

She was almost inclined to ask why she hadn't been the hottest to begin with, at least by Stan's standards, but then she figured she didn't really want to hear the answer. She had known that this was going to happen; she might as well accept it.

They talked for a while, but Stan's eyes were never on her. It was always her chest or her waist he was staring at, most likely wondering if what lay underneath her clothes was what was in the picture. Wendy knew it wasn't.

Bell ringing, students scampered off to their respectful classes. With one last, heavy kiss to her mouth, hands dipping a bit lower than she'd like them to in public, Stan waved goodbye to her and left for class. Her plan had worked, but she wasn't sure how great she felt about it. Sure, people were noticing her for once, but at the same they weren't. Because god, it wasn't her. But it could be, if she believed it was, like every other girl did.

Pushing the thoughts from her head, she began to make her way to her first period class, but an arm shot out from a nearby door, tugging her inside an empty classroom. Yelping, she tried to see through the dark but could only make out a moving figure, hand fumbling for the light switch. Confused and a bit frightened, Wendy hugged her arms around herself. Had her plan worked a bit too perfectly?

The lights flickered on, and what she saw wasn't what she had been expecting at all. An angry, no, a _furious_, Eric Cartman was breathing heavily, fists clenched at his sides. His cheeks flushed red, his eyes didn't leave Wendy, and it was rather unsettling, having him stare her down. "What the hell is your problem, Eric?" she asked, folding her arms with a huff. "I have a class to get to."

"What's _my _problem?" he spat, shoving his phone in her face. And what a surprise, she was glowing off of it. "What the hell is _your _problem? What even is this?"

"Exactly what it looks like," Wendy said, but her confidence was draining as she bounced on the balls of her feet. She had forgotten about the one person who would see through her façade, and he had caught her red handed. "It's my school picture."

Scoffing, Eric shoved his phone back into his pocket. "No it's not. Last time I checked, your boobs were only As, not double Ds."

"Shut up!" Wendy said with a stomp of her foot. "What's your point anyway? Are you trying to rub it in my face or something?"

"My point is that the famous Wendy Testaburger finally gave into peer pressure and photoshopped herself to make herself look better." He leaned against a desk, hands grasping the ends to balance himself. "And you know what? I was waiting for this day, Wendy. Because then I could finally rub it in your face that, no, you weren't bigger than every other girl at school. You were just the same. And you know, maybe I'm still right." Well, that was a blow to her ego. He may have been obnoxious, but he wasn't necessarily wrong. She had done what every other girl had done, even when she swore she never would. Why hadn't she expected that reaction from Eric? Probably because she never imagined that she wouldn't have to expect it. It was never meant to happen. But it had and she was facing the consequences. "But for fuck's sake, I don't _want _to be right this time. Do you know why I fight with you all the time? Because I know you'll fight back. You don't back down. You're willing to defend what you believe in until the very end. But you didn't this time, and I just…I don't get it, Wendy. I really don't. Why'd you do this? What are you gaining?"

"Why does it matter to you?" she said, head lowered. "You finally have exactly what you want, so do it. Go ahead, make fun."

"But I don't want to, damnit! I wanted to see you defeated, sure. And I always want to beat you, no question. But this? That picture? I never wanted to see that. Do you know what I did when I saw that email last night? I threw my phone across the room, because I swore it had to be fake. You have always been about loving who you are and accepting everyone and all that other hippie crap. But this _isn't you_. So why did you do it? All I'm looking for is that answer, Wendy."

Head still bowed, she could feel the slightest bit of anger boil in her. Who did he think he was, demanding an answer out of her? She didn't need to give him an explanation of her motives. "Who cares why I did it? I did it. And everyone loves it, so why does it matter?"

"It matters because it's you!" Eric exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders. "You're Wendy fucking Testaburger and seeing this happen makes me think the world has turned upside down! So tell me, damnit!"

Shoving him off, Wendy stepped away from him. Finally, her head was raised, cheeks pink from embarrassment, eyes blurred from unshed tears. "You don't get it, Eric. You don't understand what it's like to look at yourself and think that everything about you is just…wrong. You don't get what it's like to feel disgust every time you pass a mirror just because you don't fit the image of a perfect person. You don't understand how it feels when your boyfriend asks you to send him new pictures because the ones he has are old. That they aren't good enough anymore now that other girls look better than his girlfriend. You just don't get that."

"Don't I though?" he said with a smirk, motioning towards his torso; though slimmer than from when they were in grade school, it still had a bit of pudge at the sides and middle. "You along with every other kid at school reminded me everyday of exactly what I was: a fat ass. But I never pulled a stunt like this. And use the fact that I'm not a girl against me, but believe it or not, boys have body issues of their own. But you and I, though it sickens me to admit it, have something in common: we're both incredibly stubborn. We don't listen to other people when they tell us what we should do, who we should be. That was always the one thing I liked about you. You were never a push over like every other girl. You stood up for yourself, you had a backbone. And that's exactly why this isn't right." He had matured since elementary school. Still condescending and rude as could be, he was much more insightful, and he had started to make more sense. He had gained the littlest bit of sanity throughout the years, and while he wasn't as big of a jerk as he was, it was still a surprise, hearing something that was on the verge of kind come out of Eric's mouth. "And Stan? The guy's an idiot, always has been."

"He's my boyfriend," Wendy defended. "And he's not an idiot. He's just a bit…clueless sometimes."

"Clueless is a fucking understatement," Eric muttered.

"At least he's a gentleman, unlike you. You've always been an ass to me, and suddenly you think that you can just smooth talk your way into playing it safe? You're truly stupid, Eric."

"Yeah, that may be so," he said. "I may be an ass, and I may be stupid. But I at least know a beautiful girl when I see one."

Time froze in that instant, and Wendy was positive that she must've heard him wrong. Eric Cartman did not compliment girls; he insulted them to the point of emotional abuse. He wasn't sweet, he was vulgar. But the way that he was looking at her with those brown eyes that resembled ones of puppies way too much, she knew that he must be serious whether she wanted to believe it or not. "Excuse me?"

"C'mon, I'm an ass, not blind." Taking a step closer, Eric trapped Wendy between him and the desk, giving her no room to escape. "You wanna know why those other girls need photoshopped pictures? Because that's all they have. Their obsession with looking like little whores is all they stand for. That's why I'm okay with looking at their pictures. But I can't do that with yours. Sure, your little tits that haven't grown since the fourth grade are pretty cute, and yeah, I'll admit, I've stared at your ass a few more times than I'd have liked to. But that's not why you're beautiful. You're smart and hard working and the most aggressive motherfucker I've ever met. All of that is inside of you, and it shines through on the outside." His large fingers reached out to stroke some of her hair out of her face, which made her feel uncomfortable at the same time as she felt butterflies flutter in her stomach. "After that fight in fourth grade, all I could think was 'god, this girl is a bitch.' And it's the best part about you. You wanted nothing more than to prove me wrong, that you would prove your point. And you _did. _Other girls, they let me win, and yeah, I love to win. But not without a fight. You give me that fight." Feeling that he had overstepped any silent boundaries that they had set, he moved back, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Just uh, remember that."

Nodding, Wendy played with the hem of her shirt anxiously. "I will."

"Oh, and one more thing." He waved his phone in the air. "Delete that picture. You don't need it. The original is way better."

Glancing at her phone, pulling the picture she had saved to her camera roll up, she stared at it for a moment before hitting the trashcan icon and disposing of it. Seeing it disappear felt like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. She felt as if the real Wendy had been reborn. "Thank you, Eric."

"Don't mention it," he said, winking at her. "Bitch."

…

_Ten Years Later_

That day proved to be memorable to Wendy; it changed everything for her. She and Stan had broken up. They were never meant to last, especially with his shallow attitude. She graduated high school, honored and praised at graduation as valedictorian. Picking a college had been easy; she had always wanted to go to Yale. And she had. A business degree clutched tightly in her hand, she walked out of college, successful and headed right back to South Park to tell her family.

And when she returned, it wasn't only her family waiting there for her. A tall boy, brown hair swept off to the side, stood with his hands shoved in his coat pocket, smiling at her. Her eyes were most definitely deceiving her, but as she got closer, the truth revealed itself. She ran to him, surprised and happy, far happier than she had expected herself to be when she saw Eric Cartman. He caught her in his arms and squeezed her middle, and the butterflies were back. They stayed that way, ignoring everyone else around them. She wouldn't admit that she missed him, that would boost his ego. But she really had.

Since that day at the airport, she and Eric had been inseparable. They moved into a small apartment together. At first it was casual. They would each go to their respective jobs, Wendy at her insurance firm and Eric at a marketing office closer to Denver, and return home that night for takeout Chinese food or cold pizza from the night before. It wasn't the picture perfect life of two twenty-three year olds, but it didn't really matter. Wendy was happy.

It all changed one night when a rough thunderstorm hit, shaking the trees against the windows and pelting the roof above her aggressively with raindrops. Wendy wasn't normally afraid of petty things such as those, but this time it was different. Everything outside was so loud that she couldn't even hear herself think and the power had shut off and the worst part was that Eric hadn't returned from work and she was _worried _god damnit. His car could've slid into a ditch or gotten hit by a car. He could be dead for all she knew. It terrified her to no end.

As the door opened and she heard Eric grumbling about how cold he was, she shot out of the bedroom, electricity filling her heart. He was okay. He was wet and a little pissed off, but he was okay. Without thinking, she launched herself at him and cried against his shoulder, shaking as she told him how scared she had been that he had been hurt. She remembered how gentle he had been, pushing her back and cupping her cheek. Shushing her, he wrapped his free arm around her waist, promising her that he was fine. Wendy wasn't sure which of them leaned in first, but it didn't really matter. They kissed, and while it was a bit awkward for excess rain droplets to slide down from Eric's hair onto Wendy's cheeks, she couldn't say that she cared. Because she realized that that was what she wanted, for Eric to kiss her and hold her and be with her. That's what was missing from her life.

They got married two years later, and planning it was as frustrating as one would think it to be. Wendy wanted pink flowers, Eric wanted yellow. Wendy wanted a summer wedding, Eric wanted it in the fall. They fought and were close to calling it off multiple times, but they never did. In the end, it was perfect, Kenny as Eric's best man and Bebe as Wendy's maid of honor. Everything was like a dream. Eric told her their first night as newly weds, as they lie together, bare and layered with sweat, that he had bought them a house situated between their two offices. His hands smoothed over her back and traced patterns in her skin, describing what it looked like, how wonderful it would be to have their own place with enough room to breathe. It was all working out, her job, her new house, her husband, her life.

But when everything appeared to be going well, fate had a way of ruining everything. Because people who were happy couldn't stay that way forever. Home early from work one day, she sat on the couch with the kitten Cartman had spontaneously adopted, because according to him, no kitten should live alone, and watched daytime television. Flipping through channels, she paused on one and the remote fell from her hand. The cat jumped in fear, hiding in a pillow, but Wendy was frozen. A girl, no older than fifteen, stood across from a talk show host, explaining just how she felt about herself. That's what "good" television was these days, allowing other people to listen to poor people's problems just so that they could feel better about themselves, but to Wendy, it was a nightmare. This girl, so young and yet so defeated, was exactly who Wendy had been all those years ago, and damnit that shouldn't even matter anymore. That picture had long been deleted, and she hadn't thought about it in years. Not until then anyway. She felt like a teenager once more, contemplating ever point on her body, wondering if it were good enough. It drove her close to madness, breathing fast and heavy.

Eric found her late that night, hiding in their room when he got home from work. Shedding his shirt and tie, he slid close to her, only in his underwear. Curled beneath the comforter, Wendy refused to move, even when Eric tried to pry the blanket from her hands. "Wends, what's going on?" he asked quietly. The sky had turned navy, few stars dotting the horizon. April was among them, and a cool breeze blew through the open window. It would have been relaxing, romantic even, if not for the confusion that Wendy left lingering in the air. "You're gonna have to tell me eventually."

As she peaked her head out, Eric took it as his opportunity to pull the blanket away, only to find his wife, to his bewilderment and to a bit of his pleasure, completely naked, cheeks splotchy from tears and bottom lip pale from her biting it no doubt. "Sweetheart," he breathed, pulling her up close to him. "You gonna tell me why you're crying?"

Shaking her head, she allowed her chin to fall against his shoulder. "It's so, so ridiculous, you have no idea."

"I wanna hear about it anyway."

"You'll laugh," she whined.

"Still wanna hear it," he sang, nuzzling his nose against the top of her head. "Tell me what's troubling you." She asked if he remembered her picture from high school, the one he had gotten so angry over. He did. She told him how upset she had been about it, and he agreed that he knew she had been. And then she brought up the program about the poor girl who was just like her, afraid to be seen in her own skin, wishing she had been crafted differently. Every terrible insecurity from high school came back, and it scared her because she wasn't meant to be like that anymore. She was an adult. Adults weren't meant to be insecure. When he said nothing, she quickly apologized, deeming that she was being ridiculous and that she should let it go. And that's where Eric cut her off.

"Babe, remember what I told you back then? That you're beautiful because of who you are inside, right?" She nodded. "It still stands. I love my stubborn, overly critical Wendy. But this…this time it's different." Hands on her shoulders, he slid his thumbs over her collarbone, sending a shiver done her spine. "You were dating Stan then. Touching you, admitting that my friend's girlfriend was a fine piece of ass…I couldn't do that. But I can now. And you've given me the perfect opportunity to, what with your get up. Or lack of get up really." She didn't see what he was getting at; after all this time he was still confusing and she couldn't always understand him. But this was Eric. He was her husband now, and she trusted him. "I want you to tell me what parts of you are "disgusting" or "ugly." And then I'm going to tell you how wrong you are."

"Eric, I find this to be a bit ridiculous-"

"Well, you never know what'll happen until you try," he said. "So go ahead. What don't you like about yourself?"

Her hair, it was too dark, too straight, too uncontrollable. Fingers carded through her hair, smoothing out any lumps. _Wrong_. Her nose was flat and looked like a witch's, hooked at the end. Kissing the tip of it, he rubbed his own against hers, causing her to giggle which only made him smile wide. _Wrong. _Her lips were thin and a pale pink that looked as if they belonged on a dead woman, but he stopped before she could finish to kiss her, his own lips soft and dominating over her own. _Wrong, so, so damn wrong. _The lower they got the more awkward Wendy felt, but Eric urged her on, voice quiet and husky and it felt too soothing for her to decline.

Her neck was thick and short, tree trunk like, but the large, purple mark he left on the side of it proved to be his answer, smirk placed firmly on his lips. _Wrong. _Her chest, still small and still so unfitting, looked like a child's. Nothing even appeared to be there it was so flat, almost to the point of being concaved inwards. Tender fingers slid over her chest, causing her to jump. His hands kneaded and stroked just the right ways as his lips lingered softly on her shoulder. "How can you like that so much?" she asked through quiet whimpers, and he simply replied with, "How can I not?" as he continued his work. _Wrong. _Her stomach wasn't flat, just the opposite of her chest. Whenever she looked down, her stomach blocked the view of her feet, protruding out just the littlest bit, but still enough for her to notice that it was there. Tickling her across her belly button, Eric nodded in approval when she laughed, telling her that she was healthy. A little fat meant nothing but more to love, and he wasn't complaining. _Wrong. _Her hips were thin, almost the same size as her torso. They connected in a way where her bones stuck out at an odd angle. Firm hands gripped her hips, tugging her closer to him and into his lap. "Yeah, I guess they're kinda small. But that doesn't mean they're bad. I think they're perfect that way." _Wrong. _Her legs were long but not narrow. Her thighs were wide set but her calves were small. Almost like chicken legs. Sprawling his hands over her smooth legs, he massaged up and down them. "There's something sexy about legs. I'm not sure what it is, but there's something," Eric said, rubbing his thumb over the top of her thigh, making her shiver. _Wrong. _"Everything about you is…I can't even describe it. But I wake up every morning and look at you before I leave for work and ask myself, 'How did this happen? How did I manage to get _that_?' I still don't know the answer. But it doesn't matter if I never know. Because I have you here and that's all I could ever ask for." It was cheesy and cliché, but sometimes that was all it took. Rolling on top of him, Wendy kissed him softly, Eric's arms wrapping around to rest on the small of her back.

It always felt like a fantasy when they lie like that, Wendy's entire body open to Eric, letting him explore as much as he pleased. Hands ran over every curve, every crevice of her body, softly and with caution. He knew every part of her; he knew how to make her melt, and he did so over and over again. Lips reached every inch of her pale skin, hands met every part of her that she hated, squeezing to show just how perfect she was. Vision fuzzy, Wendy hugged herself closer to Eric. He took his time and picked each touch carefully. Never rough, he whispered promises to her, ones that she knew he would keep. Never in her life would she have had imagined such a scene, but now that she was living in it she couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

"You're so beautiful," Eric murmured into her neck, fingers traveling lower, touching her, feeling her. "God, you're so fucking beautiful. All of this has to be a dream because there's no way you can be real."

She laughed because he sounded so stupid and yet so sincere. His fingers worked inside and outside of her, never leading up to everything he had in store. It hadn't been the first time they'd done such things, but it felt like he was discovering her all over again, relearning every single part of her. He heard her cry and took note of how it was one of pleasure rather than pain or sorrow and continued rhythmically, leading her to what felt like bliss. And in some ways it was.

She soon collapsed against the mattress, legs shaking and hair spread across her pillow. It didn't take long for Eric to join her, his breathing just as heavy as hers. They shared a gaze, but nothing was said; everything that needed to be had been told. In that moment, all they needed was each other. And they had that.

Neither let go of the other until they had to go to work the next morning, but there was still the feeling of joy in the air as they parted ways for the day. Lips stayed together longer, fingers didn't slide down right away. They wouldn't stop looking at each other until they had to. Wendy felt like everything from the night before had revived a part of her. Eric always had the power to excite her in more ways than one. And she had needed that then more than ever before.

It had always been hard to find herself beautiful, what with society's dictated standards. Perhaps it wasn't fully possible to see everything Eric did. But then she would be reminded of how he felt, what he saw. And everyone needed that now and again, even people as hard headed as Wendy. She knew it wouldn't be her last bout with insecurities. But she knew that facing it alone wasn't going to be an option. She wouldn't need Photoshop or a hallway full of boys to tell her just how attractive she was with a pained smile and a fake body. All she truly needed was one idiot, a kitten loving, loud mouthed idiot, who she had promised to love until death due them part, to show her that maybe she was a bit different. But it didn't mean she was bad. Everything that made her who she was, Eric had whispered to her one tear filled night, voice as thoughtful as ever, made her beautiful. Nothing could make her better, not even a stupid computer software, because she was already the best person he could ever ask for. It was good enough for her.

* * *

_**Thank you all for reading. I've wanted to write this ever since I saw The Hobbit. I firmly believe that, though Cartman has had his differences with Wendy, he kinda likes her how she is. He doesn't want her to change because that would in no way be fun, like he said. Those two are very alike, even though they act completely different. Precious babies.**_

_**Thanks for reading! Have a wonderful day!**_


End file.
